Violence
by Laurel Rhyse
Summary: The death of Benjamin Doyle has set in motion a series of events that will alter the life of his daughter, Alice Doyle. Young and naive, Alice is determined to find her father's killer.But it seems all of the criminal underworld wants her dead too.


A/N: So, hello first of all, and welcome to my first Watchmen fanfic! I love this graphic novel, so I will try and be true to the characters as close as possible. I don't want my character to be a mary-sue, so there will be conflict between her and some of the original characters. I'm rating this M due to graphic violence, swearing, and sexual situations, so you have been warned.

Remember to review the story at the end and let me know what you think.

-Laurel Rhyse

* * *

Violence

Part One: Down, Down, Down…Gently They Go

* * *

Prologue

December 23, 1984

Hell's Kitchen, New York

Shattering glass was the last thing Benjamin Doyle knew of this world; his thoughts focused not on his murderer, but on his daughter. Her hypnotic smile and shining eyes that resembled the sky he was falling from; a stormy gray with flecks of blue, were all that he cared about.

He did not feel the pain of his body meeting the concrete below, nor hear the screams or saw the looks of horror on the faces of passing pedestrians.

He did not feel his body break or feel the life leave his body as he lay there, covered in cuts from the broken glass, or his blood flowing from the open wounds.

He only thought of his Alice and what he had done to protect her.

He did not regret it.

These thoughts began to fade as his eyes, one covered in blood from a ruptured vein, closed and his breathing slowed to a stop.

His body still, a few pedestrians rushed to his side and rolled him to his back, one pressing a chubby finger against his neck. "Shit, he's gone."

"Christ! Did you see that nosedive?!"

"Had to have been at least five stories…"

"Good God!"

"Hey, check his pockets, man!"

"Ooh, have you no respect for the dead?!"

"What's he gonna do with money, lady? He's nothing but a corpse now."

"Can't even let his body cool, can you? Ruffian!"

"Would someone call the cops?!! Why hasn't anyone called for help?!"

"What can they do, huh? The guy probably offed himself."

The sound of sirens filled the air as two patrol cars pulled up to the curve where the small mob had gathered around the body of Benjamin Doyle.

Officer Peter Sullivan pushed through the wall of people and cursed over the broken body beneath him.

"What the hell happened here?"

Looking around the silent group, Officer Sullivan eyed the Knot-top who had wanted to steal the dead man's money. Stepping towards him, Sullivan rested his hand on his sidearm as he questioned the gang member.

"Did _you_ happen to see what happened?"

The Knot-top clicked his tongue and smirked at the cop, "What if I did? Whatcha gonna do about it? Take me to jail? No, man, I just watched the poor sap go splat."

Sullivan's partner stepped beside him and looked up at the window that Benjamin Doyle crashed through.

"You sure? Don't have any friends upstairs?"

The Knot-top glared and raised his right hand at an angle, his middle digit sticking out, "Fuck you, man! I didn't do shit!"

The Knot-top then proceeded to spit on Sullivan's partner, earning a nightstick against his cheek. "Ahh!"

There were gasps from the other members of the group of people, many stepping away from the altercation, some walking away, not wanting to be involved.

The Knot-top held his face with a look of pain and found himself on the ground, tackled by the two officers.

From behind the mob of witnesses, the rest of the Knot-top's gang rounded the corner and saw their leader being pummeled by two cops.

"Rafe!"

The Knot-top named Rafe looked up and screamed at his fellow delinquents, "Get these assholes off of me!"

Abiding Rafe's order, his gang rushed through the people surrounding the assault and hauled the two officers off of Rafe.

Some of the observers grew agitated and began yelling at the Knot-tops,

"Hey!"

"Why don't you just back off and let the cops do their job?!"

"Shut yer trap lady!"

"Nothing but criminals, the lot of them!"

The bolder members of the pedestrians began screaming directly at individual knot-tops and began pushing and shoving at the gang members.

The two other cops who had followed Officer Sullivan and his partner, stood in the background, too afraid to attempt to aid their fellow officers.

The younger of the two reached into the patrol car behind him and began calling for aid. "This is Officer Friggs, me and my partner are at the corner of 54th street. There appears to have been a murder taken place and there is a riot starting up. Send backup immediately, I repeat, sent backup immediately!"

***

December 25, 1984

Chicago

It was a slow day in the Fat Louie's Diner. The Chicago diner was a local favorite but since it was Christmas Day, the diner was unusually slow.

Fat Louie was in the back, cleaning the stove of grease and his partner and wife, Ruth, was perched on the counter top next to him, having a conversation about their finances.

"Lou, you know I like the girl, but we can't be giving her a raise!"

Louie smiled at his wife and chuckled while scrubbing at the grease on the stove surface. "Come on Ruthie, she's a good worker and you know it. She's been here for six months and has brought nothing but more customers for us."

Ruth laughed hollowly.

"Sure she has; all of them horn dogs wanting to look up her skirt."

"No need to get jealous, dear."

Ruth smacked her husband's arm and slid from the counter, her hands resting on her hips in agitation. "I don't have anything to be jealous of, honey."

Louie leaned down and pecked her on the lips, "No you don't."

The sound of the bell caught their attention and Ruth gave her husband one last look before walking through the swinging doors to greet the customer.

Ruth stopped when she saw it was not a customer, but Alice.

"Alice? What are you doing here, hun? You're off today."

Alice was a young, twenty-two year old college student, working for Ruth and Louie to pay for school. She was a petite little thing with long dark hair that cascaded in loose curls down her back, which was currently kept in a loose, disheveled braid that fell over her shoulder. She had large, happy eyes that glowed.

But today, they were a dark gray and puffy.

Her cheeks were tear-stained and she wore baggy clothes that seemed to hide her body.

Ruth dropped her pad on the counter and rushed to the young woman's side. "Alice, what's wrong?"

Alice sniffled and wiped her snotty nose as she sat at the counter, fiddling her fingers together. "Something happened to my dad. He's dead."

Ruth gasped and covered her mouth.

Looking at the older woman, Alice pulled a newspaper clipping from her pocket. It was a picture of a man, covered in blood lying on the sidewalk, glass surrounding him. The headline said, "Activist Plummets to His Death."

"Oh, sweetheart"

Wiping a falling tear from her face, Alice shrugged her shoulders. "I don't understand how the police think he killed himself. Dad was against suicide; he thought it was cowardly."

Louie, having heard Alice's cries, walked from the kitchen and stopped short as he saw her distraught face.

"Alice?"

Ruth rushed to her husband and clutched his arm, "Louie, Alice's father's dead!"

Running her hands through her hair, Alice cleared her throat and said, "I need to go to New York, t-to get everything taken care of. I don't know when I'll be back, so I'm just going to give my two weeks. I'm sorry."

She hugged herself and began to weep heavily; Ruth rushed to her side and wrapped her arms around the mourning girl.

"We understand, dear. Take all the time you need."

Alice pulled away and gave her a watery smile. "Thank you, Ruth."

Patting her shoulder tenderly, Ruth nodded. "Just be careful. New York isn't the safest place."

***

December 27, 1984

Hell's Kitchen, New York

James Cormac sat in silence as he listened to the argument at hand. His men were not happy with what happened to Doyle, not at all.

Neither was he. But he kept a cool appearance, waiting for the opportune moment to retaliate against those who murdered their brother.

No one knew who killed their rehabilitated friend, but they were going to find out.

"…about you Jimmy?"

"Jim?"

Looking up, James, or Jimmy to his family, stared at the circle of men around the bar table. "What?"

Christopher, his second, sipped from his beer before saying, "What do you think we should do to find out who killed Benny?"

Rubbing his stubbled chin, Jimmy stood from his chair, the ends scrapping against the wooden floor.

His voice, holding an Irish drawl, spoke above the squabbling of his men, "Alright, this is what we're gonna be doing. We are going to hunt whoever killed Benny, and we're not gonna stop until they're in pieces. I want this fucker's head!"

The others agreed; cheering and pumping their fists against the wooden table. Turning to Christopher, Jimmy said, "I want you to find out why Benny was at that hotel. He must have been there for something."

Christopher nodded and turned to leave, but was stopped by Jimmy grabbing his arm. Turing back, Jimmy said to him, "I want you to send someone to watch out for his kid. I heard she's back in the city. But don't let her see anyone following her; Benny never told her about what he used to do."

Nodding, Christopher left the bar with Ned and made their way to the car waiting outside. Inside the bar, Jimmy sat back down at the table, feeling anger boil inside him. He didn't want a war to break out, but he wasn't going to let his brother's murder go unpunished.

***

January 2, 1985

Benjamin Doyle's Apartment

Alice sat on her father's bed, clutching his pillow, breathing in his scent. He always had the unique scent of grease mixed with his cologne. The sound of the city could be heard from the open window and the feel of the cool night air brushed against her skin.

Sighing, Alice sat up and looked around the apartment. Her father had suddenly moved from the small house in Brooklyn to this hole in the wall apartment. She never understood why.

Rising from the bed, she shuffled her way to her father's desk and saw the bundle of mail that had arrived that day.

She was so distraught after the mail arrived, she had cried for hours. Timidly, she started going through the pile.

Some were bills, others magazine subscriptions and ads; one was for the Veidt Enterprises Nostalgia fragrance. She threw these into the trash while setting aside the bills. Just as she turned to go into the kitchen, she noticed a letter resting on the table.

Her name was written across the envelope hastily, in her father's handwriting.

She grabbed for the letter and ripped it open, nearly cutting her finger in the process. Unfolding the paper within the envelope, her eyes scanned it up and down.

_Alice, _

_ I want you to know that I have always done everything I could to love and protect you. This world isn't safe; never has been I guess. I love you, sweetheart. I know that if you are reading this, I'm dead. You know I would never kill myself. The people responsible for my death will be punished, I promise. I don't want you looking for trouble, Alice. Stay away from this place. I love you, always. I hope you can forgive me one day for everything I have done._

_Dad_

Setting the letter down, Alice stood in confusion as she twisted her fingers together, her eyebrows furrowing in wonder. What would she have to forgive her father for?

***

January 2, 1985

Rorschach's Journal

_New tenant in building; a woman, looks young, healthy. Too healthy to be living in a place like this. Old tenant dead; Mrs. Shairp says he killed himself by jumping from a five-story window in Hell's Kitchen, unlikely. Spoke with old tenant once, not one to take his own life, devote activist for human rights, catholic. Believed he would go to hell if he killed himself. Said it was cowardly. Agree. _

_Woman is being followed. Single man, young, inexperienced. Sloppy. Woman does not notice, too far in depression it seems. Possible pimp? Rapist? Murderer? Will investigate further, must prevent evil from prospering. _

_

* * *

  
_

Okay, so I'm going to want reviews before I really commit to writing extensively on this story. I really want to do this, so please, give me some honest feedback! Review, review, review!!!!

Laurel Rhyse


End file.
